Oppressive Heat

Title: Oppressive Heat
Author: ScullyAsTrinity
Rating: NC-17, my babies!
A/N: This is for velocityofsound and for marlou_carmen. Yay! We love smut. Thanks for the beta Marlou.
Summary: At temperatures this high, sweat wasn't sweat. It was an extra layer of skin that obstructed the cooling process. At temperatures this

hot, there was no point swiping at your brow, no point in standing in the shade.

At temperatures this high, sweat wasn't sweat. It was an extra layer of skin that obstructed the cooling process. At temperatures this hot, there was no point swiping at your brow, no point in standing in the shade. The shade was a sorry imitation for reprieve, the trees nearly weeping with the blaze of the sun.

Dear sun, what has Las Vegas done *this* week to piss you off?

Luckily, CSIs Sara Sidle and Gil Grissom were catching the sleepy vestiges of heat rising over the city. They were finishing up their shift, abandoning the cool night to the heat of the day. Even at eight in the morning the desert offered no pause in the heat wave. It was a startling one hundred and six degrees and the sun wasn't even at its peak yet.

It was on days like this that Sara thanked whomever that she worked night shift and could sleep through the days in a climate-controlled sort of bliss. She was now simply looking forward to finishing up and driving home, to tumble into what she was sure were startlingly cool cotton sheets. She'd left the air conditioning on full blast and her skin was already anticipating the refreshing rush.

But first she and Grissom had business to complete in the desert.

He drove over the parched earth with the sort of detached purpose that she admired. And she would have admired it far more than she was, if she hadn’t been stuck to the leather of the seat in a very uncomfortable manner. When she'd first sat in the Denali she had attempted to shift around and get comfortable, but after a while the wet pull of her skin on the leather was too much and she slouched down, miserable.

If Grissom was sticky and uncomfortable, he was good at hiding it. Even with the air conditioning on full blast, the incessant glaring of early morning sun scorched the dark interior of the SUV and made everything unbearably hot to touch. Sweat was beginning to seep along the collar of Grissom's polo shirt and it was only time before it soaked through the back as well.

Sara, for her part, was sweating quite a bit more. Her white, cotton wife beater was nearly soaked through in the back and rivulets were beginning to run down her neck and gather in her cleavage. Ugh, she hated that. It was so very uncomfortable, and even more so to adjust herself.

For a brief moment, she allowed her tongue to slide out of the corner of her mouth. It tasted the sweat on her skin and she cringed. She could only imagine how she looked. Probably dishevelled, intensely dishevelled. Humidity was a huge bitch to her. She closed her eyes and projected herself home, in the tub or perhaps on the couch in front of the central cooling vent. Yes, yes, she was there and she was cool and it was won-

"Sara, we're here. I say we get this over with and go dive into Lake Mead." She watched as he wiped the sweat from his brow and on the one hand wanted to laugh at him, on the other wanted to lick his palms clean of the salty sweaty. Heat, well, damn it, it just put *her* in heat. Sara brushed it off. It was *too* hot to be horny.

Sara plopped her forensics cap on her head and maneuvered her kit out from under her feet.

Grissom halted her. "You don't need your kit." Before she could ask 'Why the hell not?', he was gone from the vehicle, squinting his way onto the desert floor.

She followed him, confused and just fucking hot, wanting nothing more than to move to Antarctica for a good few weeks.

"Help me play this out," he requested. His eyes were on the cliffs in the distance and he missed her rolling her eyes behind the light sunglasses that she wore.

Sara trudged over a few steps and then halted. "You're kidding me. Three minutes out here and we'll be lobsters, Grissom. You didn't come all the way out here just to re-enact a scene."

"Just humor me."

"When don't I," she grumbled and moved over to where he was standing. She blew a dry breath between her lips and stood stock still, waiting for him to 'do his thing'.

Grissom kept staring into the distance and then turned to her. "Alright, well he said that they had the argument out here." Sara nodded and swiped at her arm, wiping the sandy grime from it. "And if she lost her wedding ring and was searching for it when he left her... then she would have been face *down*, correct?"

Sara rolled her eyes distinctly and answered. "Yes, that's correct."

"Then," Grissom continued, moving closer to her, focusing once more on the not-so-distant horizon. "Why was she face up? And why was her arm broken."

There was no point being out there, no point at all. He could have pieced that together in his head in the shower for god’s sake, but for some reason he'd felt the need to drag her out into the middle of nowhere to state his damned theory.

She crossed her arms over her chest, pressing her breasts together, the sweat pooling between. She didn't care how it felt, it was for effect. "Because there was a struggle." He went to speak and she cut him off. "Grissom, I hate to be testy, I really do, but it's hot and I want to go home... and Grissom..."

His eyes met hers, a trickle of sweat moving down his brow. Sara was almost tantalized by it, but really, she was too frigging hot to care. Well, not when the droplet reached his neck and swiveled around to trail down his Adam's apple. Then, she was dry mouthed, but for an entirely different reason.

Grissom moved forward and took her upper arms in his palms, squeezing gently. Sara simply stood and waited for him to proceed, but when he didn't she looked up at him. "Griss?"

"Well, Sara, if you're not going to *struggle* this whole thing was pointless. So struggle!"

Sara groaned and began to struggle to the best of her ability in the heat. Her resistance was slightly less than what it should have been and he picked up on it immediately. "Ah, so the heat probably had something to do with her incapacitation." Grissom let her go and looked down at the ground. "Now, pretend to search for your wedding ring."

Sara stiffened and glared at her boss. "On the ground... you want me to search... for my... 'wedding ring'." Grissom nodded and waited. "But, but, it's... hot," she finished dejectedly and got down on her knees, pressing her hands to the dry sand. As soon as she put them down, she pulled them back.

"Jesus! Too hot!" Sara stood and wiped her hands on the sides of her pants. Then, a light bulb went off in her head. "*That's why her hands were burned!"

Grissom smirked. "Precisely." Then he stood back and surveyed the ground she had attempted to crawl on. Then he looked at her. Sweat had soaked through the chest of her wife-beater, exposing her modest white bra beneath, and that garment was so soaked that he could make out the outline of her nipples, pink and proud. At that point, he didn't quite know what to do.

He knew what he *wanted* to do; hell, he'd known what he *wanted* to do for years but there was that little problem of wanting to do something, but needing to do something entirely different.

Sara lifted her hat to rid her brow of some of the sweat, and looked over to him, and gave him a small smile. The heat must have been doing things to his head, it must have been. There was just no way...

Sweat clung to her upper lip, almost screaming at him to lick it off. No, no, he had to get himself under control. Control, control... but why? Why bother?

Grissom looked into her eyes and spoke. "I’m… I'm very lightheaded."

Sara's hands immediately detached from his and went to his neck, as if to steady him. "Oh god, heat stroke? Grissom I told you-"

"No, not a heat stroke." And he took her by the wrists and held her still.

Sara was both vaguely aroused and concerned. His eyes had darkened and the grip on her wrists had increased. She didn't need to struggle, but she knew if she really wanted to, he would hold her there.

His voice was broken, perhaps disoriented when he spoke. "Sara..." He wanted to say: "Don't let me do this," "Push me away," "This can't happen,"... but he didn't. There were no words.

And then somehow-no, not somehow, there was purpose behind it-his lips landed on her hard, knocking what little oxygen she retained from her lungs.

His mouth too was dry but when he kissed her there seemed to be an oasis created with their mouths. Yes, they were in lush, green vegetation, swimming in some sort of imaginary pond. Oh, screw it, they were just kissing, hotly, deeply, sweat mingling.

If it had been anyone else, anywhere else, Sara would have been vaguely disgusted but damn, this was Grissom, and this was his sweat. This was *him*, and so she lapped at his neck and tasted the salt there, made him moan, and smiled. They were making out in the desert, how strange.

They were making out. How strange.

Her arms wound around his neck, lubricated by the salty moisture there. She loved it, she loved the feel off him hot and heavy, wanting to take him right there on the sand in the sun.

Sara tore her lips away and felt something within her snap. Something in her head, it just unleashed. Her lips went directly to his neck and began to suck, to bite, to rid him of each tiny droplet that clung to his skin. They had no right to cling to him, it was her turn to cling. Sara moaned and it reverberated in his own throat and she became so unbelievably wet and laden with some sort of rampant desire that she wrapped one leg around his thigh and pressed her sex into him.

He could feel the heat through the denim, regardless of the temperature and layers of fabric.

"Mm, mmm, ga, mmm," Sara mumbled against his skin as his hands yanked her head back so he too could feast. Grissom attacked her neck with purpose, sucking and pulling and licking until her hips were in a constant up-and-down motion on his thigh. Her hands were locked behind his neck for leverage as she moved against him.

His lips trailed wetly up her neck to her ear and bit. Sara came hard, wetting her panties far more than she had ever intended.

"Ahhhh," she sighed and pressed to him a few more times before pulling back and looking into his eyes.

Grissom's eyes were wide and his lips were so very red and so very plump that she just had to kiss him again to be sure that she had been kissing those same lips all along. "Jeeee-sus," he swore, digging his fingers into her hips. Damn it all, he wanted her out of those pants. Now.

As Sara lowered her leg, Grissom began to walk them back to the car. Her face fell and she wanted to hide the embarrassment that crept up. But instead of stopping by the passenger side door, he moved them around to the backseat, opened the door, untangled himself and crawled in.

Sara looked at him with an odd expression. "Get the hell in," Grissom ordered and Sara hesitated for only a moment before complying. She climbed into the pleasantly cool cabin and he pulled her on top of him swiftly. She was insanely glad in that moment that he had thought to leave the car running with the air conditioning on. It was seconds before their lips met again, mouths open and hungry, tongues tangling and sliding against each other.

Her hands dug into his chest in a manner that produced the most exquisite pain and it spurred his hands into action, slipping around to brush against her lower back. His hands slipped up her spine and deftly undid the clasp on her bra. She would have been impressed if she wasn't so infatuated with the taste of his mouth.

It was difficult, getting her shirt off of her, but he managed and threw the soggy garment into the trunk. Her bra hung limply from her shoulders and he tore it from her with absolutely no grace or care. For some reason, that just turned her on all the more.

Once naked from the waist up, she pressed herself down onto him, her hands landing at the hem of his shirt, teasing him. He)\ pushed her off of him quickly and she pouted and then realized that he was taking his shirt off. He tossed that into the trunk as well and pulled her forward and down on top of him.

His lips captured a nipple and encircled it slowly with his tongue. Sara groaned but fidgeted on his lap.

"Don't-" She breathed out, reaching into his pants with abandon she didn't know she possessed. "Don't bother Grissom, later."

"There's later?" He was entirely breathless and disheveled and adorable and fuckable when he spoke and she wanted to hold that image in her heart forever.

Sara pushed herself up and off of him, sliding over and down, unbuttoning his pants quickly.

"You better fucking believe there's a later," she ground out as she pushed the pants from his hips. It was reckless and impulsive, but she didn't care. It was essential that he be inside of her as soon as humanly possibly. Her whole body cried out for it desperately.

Sara slid over him and reached into his boxers with deft, encircling his turgid cock with one hand, pumping slowly. Grissom groaned and thrust into her palm. "What do you want Grissom, tell me.."

"God, Sara..."

"Tell me, Grissom, tell me now or I’ll I stop." A thrill ran through her at the seriousness in her voice. She was demanding something of him and she loved it, it made her even wetter. How that was so, she simply didn't know, because she was so very soaking already. She thrust her hand down once more, embolded by the moan that escaped him. "Tell me."

"Anything Sara, your mouth, your oh, god, you..."

She grinned evilly and poised herself above his prick suggestively. "Do you want me to suck you Grissom? Do you want me to take you in my mouth? Tell me what you want..."

"Yes, I want, god Sara, please."

Sara took two fingers off of his cock and sat back, regarding his face. It was taut and sweaty, so very fucking gorgeous and she took delight in knowing that he was at her mercy. Her words were harsh, loud and final in the space of the car. "Beg me," she demanded, astonished that she had been able to come off sounding so serious.

His breathing was harsh and low and he glared at her. "You... Sara..."

"Fine," she said confidently and moved back. But he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back.

Grissom swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat... and begged. "Please Sara..." Her hand was back on his cock, stroking the silky thickness. "Please," he continued. "Suck me off, oh god, please, you're so good, so, so good. Love your mouth..."

And like the nice girl she was, she acquiesced, bent and took him in her mouth. His groan was loud and lovely and she snaked her tongue out to wrap around his girth. He tasted like salt and skin and Grissom and she slid her mouth back up and down once more.

Her mouth sucked gently at his head, lapping at the tiny slit there, making him buck up into her, bumping against the back of her mouth. It was exquisite, the feel of him warm and heavy in her mouth. She relished in it for a moment before running her tongue along the underside of his cock. He bucked up into her mouth and chastised himself for such a brash move-she didn't seem to care.

In fact, it seemed to turn her on all the more. She held off, sucked on the head gently and brought her hands down to toy with his balls lightly, just teasing. It was then that he realized that teetering on that delicate edge was far too risky and mumbled something about coming, and not wanting to... or something.

So Sara pulled back and damned if he didn't want to simply come when she licked her lips and touched the side of her mouth with a delicate forefinger.

He'd had it, right there. His synapses fired off random thoughts and feelings but he could think of nothing but to push himself up, turn and lay her down on the stick leather interior of the Denali. Sara bit her lip, feeling entirely dirty and hot. She felt something like a slut and loved it. She felt like a slut... but in a good way, and it made her bite her lip harder when she realized how dirty she was being.

And he, dirty and hot and heavy in return... was being utterly perfect, a wonderful compliment to the symphony her body was playing.

Her jeans were peeled off and the cool air rushed against her skin. She no longer wanted to feel relief from the heat, fuck it. She wanted to embrace it in all its red, orange, yellow glory.

Grissom was utterly ready, massive and fuckable over her. She away from him and stared at him for a long moment. He was sweating just as much as he had been out in the desert. He was perfect and she wanted to fuck that look right off of his face. Perfect in all the wrong ways.

Grissom too held back, looked into her eyes, allowing her for the first to see the love there, the devotion. "Shouldn't we, I mean, this is how you *want* it?"

"Griss..." She said, her smile gentle, her touch even more so.

"You wouldn't rather-"

Sara laughed at him and then bucked up. She caught his cock between her thighs firmly and groaned, the smile still on her face. "You're having second thoughts *now*!?"

"Not second thoughts, just... wouldn't you rather have... I don't know, a bed, wining and dining, me telling you... thing...s...?"

"Things?" She bit her lip and rolled her hips again, creating delicious friction.

Grissom sighed and brushed a hand over his face. "Me telling you that I love you and-"

"Grissom. I know. Now, just fuck me for chrissakes."

She knew? What the hell was that? That wasn't a declaration. There was no moment of clarity, no time to talk about their feelings and sort through the years of shit that had accumulated. But yet, she didn't seem to care. Oh no, not in the way she brushed against him. Not in the way she strained for him to be inside her.

And perhaps none of that mattered anymore. It was much more important that they be together than to talk everything out. Yes, together.

The first thrust was painful and she didn't even attempt to mask it. There was no point in hiding anything from him anymore. She cried out and slammed her eyes shut and he stopped moving and quickly brought a hand to her cheek.

Damn, he'd ruined it. He’d-

"Fuck me Grissom, please." She begged, actually begged him as he had her earlier.

Grissom plunged into her, watching her face for pain as he did so. But she eased up on her lip and moaned and thrust up into him. He fucking lost it.

She grabbed his ass and pulled him down hard, harder than he'd intended to go and she nearly screamed. So... so deep and painful but wonderful and, fucking, so deep. Her lip was in a constant vice, trapped between rows of teeth, nearly drawing blood. It had never been this intensely ... intense. Deep, god his cock was so deep in her. She swore she could feel it in her throat again.

Sara panted, actually. allowed herself to pant. "Harder."

Another demand. He was more than eager to comply with it. Grissom pulled out and slammed harder, deeper and in a strangely palpable moment she came hard, clawing at his arm, just hard enough.

Grissom held back, amazed with his prowess and plunged into her a good seven times before he let go, crying out her name or something like it into her hair. Then he collapsed on her, sweat mingling, allowing them to slide against each other as they kissed, slippery and off balance and strange.

It was a task getting their clothes back on, but they managed and each climbed into the front seat.

Sara looked at Grissom.

Grissom looked at Sara.

"Where to?," he asked, not avoiding her eyes which she found stunning.

"Back to my place, take me home..." she demanded, wiping her hands on her crumpled pants.

Grissom's face screwed up in something between disappointed and confusions. "Huh?"

Sara turned to him and gripped his right hand on the steering wheel. "Back to my place, because I need a shower... and so do you."